CHAPTER XIII
HIDE-AND-SEEK
AND so the days danced on, each one happier than the last, and all too short for the amount of fun that had to be crammed into them. Wheeling, walking, boating, bathing, fishing, and crabbing were favorite amusements; but best of all the girls loved to play some rollicking, frolicking game that called forth peals of laughter which had no cause save sheer gladness of living.
“Let’s play hide-and-seek,” said Betty, one morning.
“All right,” said Jessie, loyally but lazily. “You go and hide and cry ‘Coop!’ and we’ll all come and find you.”
“No, I don’t mean that baby way; I mean a nice new way. I’ve invented it myself just now, and it’s gay.”
“Elucidate further,” said Marjorie, looking up from her work, which was the combing of Timmy Loo’s silvery tangled curls.
“It’s a gorgeous game,” went on Betty, “but it’s not adapted to or for dogs. If the nondescript mop in your lap goes by that name he’ll have to be buried before we can proceed.”
“Buried indeed! my own, my only Timmy Loo!” cried Marjorie, caressing the moppy mass in question. “Not that, not that, I pray you; but, if really necessary, I could secrete him with a kind neighbor until your wild project has fizzled out.”
“Well, listen, then,” said Betty. “We all hide, you know, and find each other one by one, and then the one who stays hidden longest gets a prize.”
“Beautiful—beautiful,” sighed Marguerite; “but what is the prize? Might it be worth winning?”
“The prize can be that photograph I took of you girls in your bathing-suits,” said Hester. “I’ll never be able to get another as good, and it’s so funny it’s worth having.”
“So it is,” cried Nan. “I’d love to have it. But you vowed you were going to keep it yourself, Hester.”
“I know; but I’m so noble I offer it freely in this noble cause. Besides, I may win it.”
“Sure enough,” cried Betty; “now let’s begin. Dispose of Timmy Loo, Marjorie, and then all come into the Grotto.”
“Rosie,” called Marjorie, “won’t you please take this valuable and high-bred morsel of caninity over to Mrs. Warburton’s? And then you may go for a run on the beach. ’Twill do you good, and besides we want to use the whole of this palatial residence for a while.”
Rosie departed, beaming as usual, and the girls went into the parlor, and Betty closed the door.
“Now,” said she, “we first draw lots for the seeker.”
This ceremony was gone through with, and the lot fell upon Helen.
“I’m glad of it,” said she. “I’d far rather hunt than hide.”
“Next,” said Betty, “the rest of us must draw these numbered papers, and—well, draw, then I’ll tell you.”
Each took a folded paper, and Millicent’s proved to be number one.
“Then you go first,” said Betty; “we’ll give you two minutes by Helen’s watch. In that time you must have hidden yourself either in this house or about its large and spacious grounds. No fair going off the premises.”
Millicent departed on tiptoe, closing the door after her, and Betty continued:
“I’m second; so when the two minutes are up, I go and hide, and you allow me also two minutes in which to tuck myself away. Then so on until all are gone but our Helen, our pride and joy. After the last two minutes she starts to hunt, and the first one she finds goes with her to hunt the others; and so on, you know, until all are found but one, who is, of course, the lucky owner of Hester’s masterpiece of photographic art.”
The two minutes passed, and Betty went to hide. Then the others, one by one, until at last Helen was ready to start on her hunting expedition.
“They wouldn’t be so babyish as to hide behind doors,” she thought, as she looked behind several. “However, it’s best to be systematic. I’ll open every door I see.”
Acting on this plan, she opened the door of the sideboard as she passed that old-fashioned and roomy piece of furniture, and, to her surprise, there was the chubby Marguerite squeezed in between two shelves.
“Oh, help me out!” she cried. “I’m nearly dead.”
It was a close fit, but Helen pulled her out, and together they continued the search.
“Some one would be sure to hide in the kitchen,” declared the canny Matron, so they explored the cupboards there. And, as might have been expected, away back behind some pots and pans was Hester, who looked angrily at her discoverers.
“I thought I had such a good place,” she said, crawling out. “How ever did you find me?”
“Come on,” cried Helen; “it’s getting to be more fun; let’s find the others.”
“Let’s get some buns and milk first,” said Marguerite; “I’m fearfully hungry, and the sight of the cake-box maddens me.”
So the three sat down to a light repast, and as they fell to chatting they quite forgot the game and the other players thereof.
“Well, you’re a nice lot!” said Marjorie, suddenly appearing from the cellar. “I hid in the coal-bin, and I’m sure you never would have found me; but when I heard you talking up here, I thought you had found all the rest.”
“Never mind,” said Hester; “you’re on our side now. Come on; let’s dig up the others.”
Nan was easily found, as she had climbed out her bedroom window and was calmly sitting on the roof, gazing at the sea.
“You needn’t have hurried on my account,” she said; “I’d just as lief sit here all day.”
Jessie was discovered next, standing in a wardrobe among a lot of dresses, which she had fondly hoped would conceal her. And they would have done so, save that her head showed above them, and her feet below.
Then the six began to hunt for Betty and Millicent.
It was really a hunt, for they looked in every likely place and a great many unlikely ones without success. They went downstairs and out of doors, only to return and search from cellar to attic.
At last Jessie, who was peering through the dim, dusty recesses of the low-ceiled attic, saw an old trunk, and, throwing it open, found Betty, cramped and aching, but game to the last.
“ ‘Oh, the mistletoe bough. Oh, the mistletoe bough,’ ” sang Jessie, as she helped Betty out.
“Am I the last?” cried Betty, looking at the girls, who came trooping up to see her hiding-place.
“No; Millicent is still missing,” said Marjorie.
“Then she gets the picture,” said Betty, looking disappointed, “and I wanted it.”
“Never mind, Peeler,” said Hester; “I’ll take another for you, and it will be just as jolly.”
Then they hunted for Millicent. But no trace of her could be found.
“She’s been shpirited away, I’m thinkin’,” said Rosie, who had returned and was much startled at what she thought an alarming disappearance.
“Let’s get Timmy Loo and see if he can’t find her,” said Marjorie, after they had called and yelled and begged Millicent to come to them.
“Yes; set the bloodhound on her track,” said Nan.
So Timmy Loo was brought home, and each girl told him what he was to do, and showed him Millicent’s shoes and gloves and dresses until the poor little dog was quite bewildered.
But he finally understood, and with a bound he sprang upon Marjorie’s bed, which, by the way, was covered with clean shirt-waists and stiffly starched skirts just home from the laundry.
“Oh, Tim, get off those clothes!” cried Marjorie; but Tim only danced around on them and barked.
Then he flew to the pillows, and, though much tangled up in the frills of one of Jessie’s clean aprons, he burrowed until he disclosed some tangled curls and a tortoise-shell comb.
“There she is!” cried Marjorie; and, flinging back the counterpane, they saw a flushed, rosy face.
“I’ve been asleep,” said Millicent, yawning and stretching. “What do you girls want? Oh, I was hiding, wasn’t I? Well, I hid in such a nice place I inadvertently took a nap, and I’ve had lovely dreams.”
“Get up,” cried Betty; “you’re spoiling all the clean clothes, and—you’ve won the prize.”
“Have I? Goody! And I haven’t hurt the clothes a bit. Tim did, though, and he woke me up jumping on me.”
Then Millicent slid out of the bed, did up her hair, and was led downstairs in triumph to receive her prize.
It was presented by Betty, “because,” as she said, “I came next nearest to getting it, and so I ought to have the melancholy pleasure of handing it over to me hated rival.”
The presentation speech, and the grandiloquent thanks expressed by the recipient, caused such hilarity that Aunt Molly came running over to hear the fun. Then they told her all about the game, and as she was such an appreciative listener, they told her much more, until suddenly Betty cried out:
“Oh, see that queer-looking person; I believe she’s coming here!”
All looked and beheld a tall, imperious-looking lady, garbed in eccentric fashion, stalking toward them at a rapid gait. Her bonnet was elaborately decked with high feathers, which nodded and bobbed in unison with her quick, jerky footsteps, and over an old-fashioned black silk gown she wore a rich lace mantilla.
“Why, it’s Mrs. Lennox,” said Aunt Molly, rising. “I dare say she’s coming to call on me. Excuse me, girlies; I must run home.”
“Let us go with you,” cried Marjorie; “I’m sure you’ll need protection from that warlike Amazon. I wouldn’t dare face her alone.”
“I’ll call you over if I feel timid,” returned Aunt Molly, who was already half-way down the steps.
Sure enough, the stranger turned in at Aunt Molly’s gate, and marched up the walk as if she were storming a citadel.
“Jiminy crickets!” whispered Betty, “what can she be? She’s too distinguished for a book-agent and too excited for a plain every-day caller.”
“She’s Zenobia,” said Millicent, “returned to earth in disguise. I think she’s collecting a regiment and wants us to join it.”
“She’s Minerva in modern clothes,” said Betty, “and she wants Aunt Molly to take her to board.”
“Not she,” said Hester; “she’s no summer boarder. I think she’s a dowager countess with several castles of her own.”
By this time they were all watching the old lady, who was evidently telling Aunt Molly a fearful tale of woe, for she gesticulated angrily; and though the girls could not hear her words, they gazed at her bobbing feathers and her clenched hands in sympathy with her trouble, whatever it might be.
Suddenly Aunt Molly called out: “Come over here, girlies; I want you.”
Over flew the Octave helter-skelter; but they stood up politely enough while Aunt Molly introduced them to her guest.
“Dear Mrs. Lennox,” continued Aunt Molly, “is in a sad dilemma. Only yesterday—but I will ask her to tell you about it herself.”
“Yes, I will tell you,” cried Mrs. Lennox, fairly glaring at the flock of girls, who fell in an expectant group at her feet, “for the tale ought to be blazoned abroad to the four winds of heaven! Gratitude, thou’rt but an empty name! Respect, honor, deference? Chimeras all—chimeras all!”
The girls sat enthralled, though Millicent with difficulty restrained herself from replying to the old lady in kind.
“We are told,” went on Mrs. Lennox, waving her hand dramatically, “that this is a free country! No greater, graver misstatement was ever made. We are slaves!” And she shook her clenched fist at Nan, who chanced to be nearest her, with such a belligerent air that the poor Poet feared she was responsible for the national bondage.
“Slaves!” continued Mrs. Lennox, warming to her subject and waving both arms about. “Slaves to our servants! The time has come when they rule us; they dictate to us; they make the laws and we obey them!”
“Yes’m,” murmured Helen, who thought the ensuing pause ought to be filled somehow.
“And now what have my servants done?” she cried, looking from one young face to another, but too engrossed to notice the various expressions of mirth or bewilderment on each.
As no one was in a position to reply, she continued:
“What have they done? They have left me! Departed, one and all, with no word of warning, no cause for offense.”
“Why did they go?” inquired Betty, who liked to know reasons for things.
“Alas! James, my butler, obtained a fine position in a large hotel in the city, and, viper that he is, he must needs tell all the others of it, and one and all, from the head cook down to the footman, ungratefully left my kind service and followed James to the unknown, untried hardships of a city hotel.”
“But you can get a new set of servants,” said Aunt Molly, soothingly.
“Of course I can,” cried Mrs. Lennox, bristling up as if her dignity had been menaced. “Of course I can! Hosts of the best servants in the country are only awaiting an opportunity to come to my service. But it takes time to procure and install a new lot, and here is the culmination of my dismay. But now I received a telegram bidding me expect Lady Pendered and her daughter to-morrow, to remain with me overnight. Ah, my dear friend, you do not know Lady Pendered, but she represents the very flower of the British aristocracy. Her fair daughter Lucy is a sweet gem of purest ray serene, and they have never known what it was to have less than twenty servants at their finger-ends. And my James was such a paragon of a butler! Alas, alas! how sharper than a servant’s tooth—no, a thankless tooth—ah, well, the quotation has slipped my memory for the moment, but I will recall it anon.”
“When are your English friends coming?” asked Aunt Molly.
“To-morrow afternoon,” replied Mrs. Lennox; “and oh, how it would have pleased me were I but able to offer them such hospitality as ’tis in my heart to give! They can remain with me but twenty-four hours, and then they will speed away to publish broadcast the news that Miranda Lennox has no establishment save one old colored woman and a good-for-nothing boy. For those, alas! are all I can find in this howling wilderness of a sea-shore town.”
“Girls,” was all Aunt Molly said, but she looked volumes of meaning out of her kind, clever eyes.
Marjorie was first to understand and respond.
“Of course we can,” she cried, “can’t we, girls? It would be the jolliest sort of a lark, and a ‘helping hand’ besides.”
“We could,” said Betty, “but—”
“But me no buts,” cried Hester. “We can and we will!”
“Vote!” exclaimed Marjorie. “Shall we or sha’n’t we? All in favor, aye!”
“Aye!” yelled the eight; and so quickly was it all done that Mrs. Lennox still wore a look of frightened bewilderment when Marjorie began:
“My dear Mrs. Lennox, you want accomplished and experienced servants to permit you to entertain your friends properly. We claim to be such, and we offer you our services with the greatest pleasure, the only condition being that you take the whole eight.”
CHAPTER XIV
WILLING SERVICE
AT this unexpected solution of her great problem Mrs. Lennox recovered herself quickly, and exclaimed:
“Oh, my dears, if you only would! But do you really mean it? Do they?” And she looked at Aunt Molly for confirmation of an offer too good to be true.
“I think they do,” said Aunt Molly, smiling; “and I can assure you, dear Mrs. Lennox, that whatever these young ladies undertake will be well and thoroughly done.”
“How can we do it?” said Nan. “Do you mean for the English ladies to think we’re really servants?”
“Of course they must,” cried Millicent, who had waked up to the glorious possibilities of the situation. “Unless it’s a real masquerade it’ll be no fun at all. But where can we get the right kind of caps and aprons?”
Aunt Molly volunteered to go to town for them that very afternoon, and Mrs. Lennox, seeing that these strange girls were really in earnest, accepted the blessing Heaven had so unexpectedly sent her, and at once began to make the most of it.
“Which of you are the best cooks?” she inquired, with the air of a general marshaling his forces—but such a capable and straightforward general that no offense could possibly be felt.
“Hester and Marjorie,” was the immediate reply of the other six.
“Very well,” said Mrs. Lennox. “Hester shall be head cook, since you named her first, and Marjorie assistant.”
Then Jessie and Betty were selected as being the deftest waitresses, and Millicent and Helen were declared ideal lady’s-maids. Helen preferred to be Mrs. Lennox’s own maid, so Millicent was allotted to the English visitors.
All agreed that Marguerite would make the most picturesque parlor-maid, and as no other post could be thought of, Nan said she would be private secretary and librarian.
Mrs. Lennox entered heartily into all the details of the scheme, and agreed with Millicent that if the thing were done at all, it must be done completely and with most careful attention to minutiæ.
“Could you submit to be spoken to as menials?” said Mrs. Lennox. “For I am most anxious to impress my English friends with the superiority of our servants over theirs. You would have to be modest and deferential, address me as ‘madam,’ and both the visitors as ‘your ladyship.’ ”
But all this only made it seem more of a lark, and after copious directions Mrs. Lennox went home, the eight girls promising to appear the next afternoon at two.
That night Aunt Molly returned from the city, bringing wonderful paraphernalia.
The waitresses were to wear white—pique skirts and linen shirt-waists; their caps were of the conventional shape, and their aprons were voluminous indeed, with crossed straps and broad wings, which Uncle Ned declared could not be surpassed for acreage in all London.
The cooks were to wear white, too—linen blouses with rolled-up sleeves, and real cooks’ caps.
The lady’s-maids wore pink and blue gingham respectively, with aprons befrilled and beflounced, and most fetching little caps with ribbon bows.
“THE GEM OF THE COLLECTION.”
“THE GEM OF THE COLLECTION.”
But Marguerite was pronounced “the gem of the collection.” In her plain black dress, with a white apron of thin lawn, trimmed with a wide accordion-plaited ruffle, and tied back with a most enormous bow, a hand in each pocket of her apron, she looked like the coquettish parlor-maid one sees on the stage or in the comic papers. A bewitching little cap was jauntily perched on her fluffy golden hair, and her high-heeled slippers clicked gaily as she tripped around.
At two o’clock precisely, on the day of the performance, the eight presented themselves at Mrs. Lennox’s door and were admitted by that lady herself.
“Well, youarea proper-looking lot,” she exclaimed as the girls filed in, “and you’ve taken a weight off my mind, I can tell you. When I woke this morning I thought it was all a dream,—your coming, I mean,—and I have not really felt sure of you until I saw you approaching. Goodness gracious, Miss Marguerite, I think her ladyship will open her eyes at my parlor-maid! Of course I shall call you all by your first names; they’re rather unusual for servants, some of them, but I’ll explain that American servants are often elaborately dubbed.”
Then the girls flew to their respective places, and work began in earnest.
Hester and Marjorie were a bit appalled at the overflowing condition of Mrs. Lennox’s larder; but Nan and Millicent, having nothing to do, came to their assistance, and a really fine dinner was soon in course of preparation.
Jessie and Betty set the table, while Marguerite gathered flowers and decorated the various rooms until they were fragrant bowers of beauty.
Mrs. Lennox’s house was a large and luxurious mansion, exquisitely appointed and with beautiful furnishings. Indeed, so delighted was Marguerite with her surroundings and with the mirrored representations of her pretty self that she almost forgot to do her work.
“Isn’t it fun?” said Jessie, as she passed the parlor door with a huge silver-basket which Mrs. Lennox had just intrusted to her. “It’s a delight to set a table with such lovely things.”
“How are the cooks?” said Marguerite, leaving off pirouetting before the pier-glass and coming out to chum with the others.
But her entrance to the kitchen was not welcomed.
“Go away!” cried Marjorie. “Fly away, you butterfly. We’re really busy, and much flustered besides.”
“You seem to be frying everything,” commented Marguerite, teasingly. “There is a sound as of sizzling grease.”
“The crackling of grease saved Rome,” called out Hester, and Marguerite went back giggling.
But at last everything was in readiness, and not any too soon, either; for the door-bell rang a resounding peal. Hurriedly the servants confabbed as to whose place it was to go to the door. In the absence of a man-servant they concluded it was a waitress’s place; but Marguerite settled the question by remarking that, no matter whose place it was,shewould go anyhow.
Nan was ensconced in the library, Helen was with Mrs. Lennox in her boudoir, and Millicent waiting in the guests’ apartments; but the eyes of the other four were peering cautiously from behind doors and portières as the pretty and audacious parlor-maid flung open the front door with an air that would have done credit to a Lord Chamberlain.
“Mrs. Lennox?” murmured the grand lady visitor, somewhat taken aback at the lovely vision confronting her.
“Yes, your ladyships,” said Marguerite’s pretty voice. “Will your ladyships enter?”
She curtsied low, then ushered the visitors into the drawing-room and presented her silver tray for cards.
“Lady Pendered and Lady Lucy Pendered,” said the elder guest, in dignified tones; and Marguerite reddened and whipped her tray behind her, wondering if she had made a mistake.
She thought she caught the echo of a giggling retreat to the kitchen, but, determined to play her part as well as she could, she tripped upstairs and announced the guests to Mrs. Lennox.
“I will go down at once,” said that lady. “Helen, my shawl.”
“Yes, madam,” said Helen, gracefully offering the dainty trifle of a shawl; and then Mrs. Lennox sailed downstairs, and the two girls dropped to the floor and rocked back and forth in silent paroxysms of mirth.
Then a bell summoned Helen and Millicent, and, resolutely assuming a prim demeanor, they went downstairs side by side and presented themselves for orders.
Although a woman of age and experience, Lady Pendered had never seen just such lady’s-maids as these before, and she raised her lorgnon and stared at them with perhaps pardonable curiosity.
“Millicent, attend these ladies,” said Mrs. Lennox, easily. “I trust she will make you comfortable, Lady Pendered. Helen is my own maid, but I beg you will command her, Lady Lucy.”
Lady Lucy Pendered was a pale, willowy girl of perhaps eighteen or twenty, with light-blue eyes and straw-colored hair which was most exceedingly frizzed. Millicent and Helen promptly disliked her; but with demure deference they relieved the distinguished visitors of their wraps and hand-bags and preceded them upstairs.
Arriving at their rooms, Lady Pendered dismissed Helen, declaring that Mrs. Lennox must need her, and stating that she and her daughter could easily manage with one maid. Which Millicent discovered to mean that Lady Lucy would monopolize her services, and Lady Pendered would shift for herself.
As a beginning, Lady Lucy reclined languidly on a couch and thrust out her foot, which was heavily shod, after the most exaggerated English fashion.
For a moment Millicent felt annoyed, and her face flushed deep red; then, remembering it was a game, she threw herself into it in her own whole-souled way, and, dropping on her knees before the pale-haired aristocrat, she removed her heavy boots, brought her slippers and put them on for her, and then proceeded to assist her through the intricacies of a very elaborate toilet.
Millicent afterward confessed to Marjorie that shedidwant to burn the Lady Lucy’s noble forehead when she frizzed that ridiculous nest on top of her head; but at the time she was a most exemplary lady’s-maid, deft, patient, and willing.
Meanwhile Helen was assisting Mrs. Lennox to don her grandest attire in honor of her titled guests, and not having to masquerade just then, Helen and the eccentric old lady were becoming fast friends.
CHAPTER XV
HILARIOUS HOSPITALITY
THE dinner-table was a surprise even to Mrs. Lennox. Although her own table appointments were fastidiously correct, they had been supplemented by Jessie’s exquisite arrangement of flowers, and by dainty dinner-cards which Millicent had that morning painted in water-color.
The two “white-winged angels,” as the immaculate waitresses called each other, stood like marble statues while the guests entered the dining-room.
This brought Lady Pendered’s lorgnon again into requisition, and she scanned Betty and Jessie until, as they afterward declared, they felt like waxworks at the Eden Musée.
Then the fun began. The two waitresses, intent on doing their best, were so careful and thoughtful that Mrs. Lennox grew more and more dignified and important, as befitted the mistress of such a fine establishment.
Hester and Marjorie sent in most deliciously cooked dishes, which were faultlessly served by the expert waitresses.
Lady Pendered expatiated on the extreme delicacy of her daughter’s constitution, and averred that the Lady Lucy had absolutely no appetite and ate literally nothing.
This moved the apparently oblivious Betty to offer Lady Lucy braised sweet-breads for the second time, and as the fragile one helped herself bountifully, Jessie again urged upon her the stuffed cucumbers, of which she again partook.
“My child, my child, you will be ill,” said Lady Pendered, in real and well-founded alarm.
“I don’t care if I am, mamma,” said the wilful Lady Lucy. “These American things are very good. Why don’t we have them at home?”
“Tut, tut, my daughter; all the world knows nothing can excel England’s well-spread boards. This America of yours,” she continued, turning to Mrs. Lennox, “is a most extraordinary place. I’ve been here but a fortnight, and that I spent in New York. Very awful town, isn’t it?”
“Do you think so?” said Mrs. Lennox, politely non-committal.
“Indeed, yes. It’s so sudden and unexpected. One never knows what will happen next.”
“I’m rather fond of New York,” said Mrs. Lennox; “but of course its homes are different from English country houses.”
“Oh, quite different; and the service is something atrocious. My dear Miranda, you are to be congratulated on your establishment. I haven’t seen a decent lady’s-maid since I left England until I reached here. That pretty Millicent of yours is a treasure.”
Although inwardly convulsed, Betty managed to control her features, and by biting her lips achieved an expression of intense agony, which was, however, better than laughing aloud.
Not so Jessie. The sudden mental picture of Millicent assisting these ladies at their toilet was too much for her, and with a smothered sound, something between a chuckle and a scream, she hurriedly retreated to the kitchen.
“What is it?” cried Hester and Marjorie, seeing the waitress appear unexpectedly and almost in hysterics.
But Jessie had a plucky determination of her own, and, without a word to the bewildered cooks, she pulled herself together, straightened her face to an expression of demure propriety, and was back in the dining-room with her tray in less than two minutes.
But the ordeal was not yet over. When she returned, Lady Pendered was still recounting Millicent’s virtues.
“Why, really,” said the English lady, “she crimped my fringe quite as well as Parkins does at home. And my clothes were never brushed more neatly.”
Millicent brushing clothes! This was almost too much for Betty; but, not daring to glance at Jessie, she went on about her work, endeavoring not to listen to any further disclosures.
“Yes, she’s not bad,” drawled Lady Lucy; “she darned a bit of a rent in my lace bodice, and smiled amiably when I asked her to do up my fine handkerchiefs.”
Millicent as a laundress! The girls nearly broke down at this. But Mrs. Lennox’s clear, even voice speaking restored their calm. Surely if she could preserve her equanimity they ought to do so.
“Millicent is indeed a perfect servant,” the hostess was saying; “but all of my maids are. I could not wish for a better lot.”
“Dear Mrs. Lennox,” said the languid Lucy, “they do seem superior—all except that frivolous parlor-maid of yours. We wouldn’t like to have such a pretty one at home. But then, I have brothers.”
A heavy portière at the end of the dining-room waved convulsively at this, and the too pretty parlor-maid scurried away to a distant room where she could enjoy the joke with some of her fellow-servants.
Now one of Hester’s greatest feats was the concoction of Yorkshire pudding. It was the real thing, and was a favorite dish at the club table.
On this occasion, therefore, she fairly outdid herself, and when it accompanied a very English-looking joint to the table, Lady Pendered’s delight knew no bounds.
“Yorkshire pudding!” she exclaimed. “Ah, Miranda, you have an English cook.”
As Mrs. Lennox was but very slightly acquainted with her cooks, she felt a trifle uncertain as to their nationality. But she was not easily disconcerted, and, turning to Jessie, she said indifferently:
“My head cookisEnglish, is she not?”
“Yes, madam,” replied Jessie; “Hester is English.”
“And my assistant cook, what is her name?”
But the sound of her own voice had been too much for Jessie, and her wits deserted her entirely. In a half-dazed way she realized that Mrs. Lennox was asking her to name Marjorie, and, quite without her own volition, she replied mechanically:
“The Duchess, madam.”
“What!” cried Lady Pendered, raising her eye-glass to look at the luckless Jessie.
But Betty came quickly to the rescue.
“Yes, Dutch, madam,” she said, addressing Mrs. Lennox; “the cook’s assistant is Dutch, and her name is Marjorie.”
“So it is,” said Mrs. Lennox, calmly. “I remember now. But really, dear Lady Pendered, in America one troubles one’s self so little with these matters. I rarely see my kitchen servants, and almost never have occasion to call them by name.”
“Wonderful system!” said Lady Pendered, appalled at this state of culinary perfection. “As a mere gratification of my curiosity, may I see your English cook? I would be glad to interview one who can make such a pudding as this.”
“Certainly,” said Mrs. Lennox, though not without some misgivings. “Jessie, summon Hester to the dining-room.”
“Yes, madam,” said Jessie, and she flew into the kitchen.
“Oh, Hester, Lady Pendered wants to interview you; you’re to come in at once. And she’ll nearly kill you—she’s so funny, I mean; but do be careful, Hester, and don’t laugh or anything.”
“Trust me,” said Hester, smoothing out her apron and straightening her cap.
“Am I sent for?” asked Marjorie. “I don’t care; I’m going anyway. I won’t be kept out of the fun.”
Jessie returned to the dining-room, followed by Hester. After hesitating a moment, Marjorie followed, and stood modestly behind her chief. These tidy and well-favored cooks seemed to rouse Lady Pendered’s ire.
“Well!” she exclaimed. “I never saw anything like it. Are you an English girl? Where are you from?”
“ ’Igham Ferrers, your ladyship,” said Hester, dropping a very British curtsy.
“How long have you been in America?”
“A matter of a year, your ladyship.”
“With whom did you live in Higham Ferrers, that you learned to cook so well?”
“With the Laveracks, your ladyship; a grand family, and most hexacting.”
With another curtsy, Hester was gone, and Marjorie, too, for with Jessie and Betty looking at them they felt sure they couldn’t keep from laughing another moment.
“It’s most extraordinary,” said Lady Pendered; “not only that you should have such capable and well-trained servants, but that they should all be such pretty and neat young girls.”
“I trust my servants are always tidy,” said Mrs. Lennox, with great dignity; and then she resolutely changed the subject, and forced the conversation into other channels.
After dinner the ladies went for a stroll on the beach, Millicent and Helen accompanying them, carrying veils, wraps, purses, and other impedimenta.
The rest of the club-members were much annoyed that the two girls had to go, for they had planned to have a hilarious dinner of their own after the more formal meal was over.
But the two lady’s-maids declared they wanted to go, saying it was great fun to attend on the high-bred foreigners.
And the fun was greatly increased when, on reaching the pavilion, they met Uncle Ned and Aunt Molly.
Mrs. Lennox greeted these delightful people, and presented them to her guests.
The lady’s-maids sat, demurely unobtrusive, a little apart from the group, but not out of range of Uncle Ned’s merry eyes, which twinkled and winked at them whenever opportunity offered.
“Those are uncommonly pretty attendants you have, Mrs. Lennox,” said Uncle Ned, in a stage-whisper; but Aunt Molly pulled his coat-tail furtively, and said, “How blue the sea is to-night!”
Meantime Mrs. Lennox’s usually quiet and dignified home was the scene of wonderful hilarity.
Jessie and Betty were recounting all the details of the dinner at which they had served so successfully. Marguerite confessed that she and Nan had basely spied from behind the portières. Hester and Marjorie owned up that their iced pudding had failed to freeze properly, and they had had to send Helen to the confectioner’s for ices.
But all agreed that Mrs. Lennox was a dear, and that they were glad of the opportunity to help her in her time of need.
Not realizing how fast time was flying, they gathered in the music-room, and Marguerite played on Mrs. Lennox’s grand piano, while all sang their favorite songs lustily and with a will.
“Now,” cried Marguerite, “in honor of our distinguished English guests and our far more distinguished English cook, we will sing ‘Rule Britannia!’ ”
At it they went pell-mell, and as the chorus rose high and strong the beach-party returned, and entered the front door to be greeted by the assurance that Britons never, never, never should be slaves!
CHAPTER XVI
A WELCOME INVITATION
WITH great presence of mind Hester suddenly turned out the lights in the music-room, and under cover of the darkness the girls scurried away.
Mrs. Lennox, grasping the situation, led her guests to the parlor, remarking:
“I allow my maids the use of the piano once a week. One can’t betoostrict with them, and besides it keeps the instrument in better condition.”
Lady Pendered sniffed a little at this, and opined that the American customs were beyond her ken.
As the services of the lady’s-maids were required late at night, it had been arranged that Millicent and Helen should sleep at Mrs. Lennox’s; but the other six returned to Hilarity Hall.
Uncle Ned and Aunt Molly called for them at the kitchen door, and it was with difficulty they repressed their merriment until they were far enough down the street to be out of ear-shot.
Then all the girls talked at once, and as they had most appreciative listeners, the fun waxed high.
Next morning, bright and early, they returned to the scene of their labors.
Marguerite, armed with a huge and fluffy feather duster, posed anew before the pier-glasses.
Helen seated herself at a desk in the library, and though looking like the primmest and most industrious of amanuenses, was in reality writing a letter to her mother.
But the cooks and waitresses went to work, and exerted themselves to the utmost to show those “English sillies,” as Marjorie called them, what an American breakfast in its perfection is like.
“She wants her hair frizzed again!” said Millicent, in tones of deepest disgust, as she came into the kitchen to fill an alcohol-lamp.
“Well, it’s lucky they selected you, Lamplighter, for that position;Icouldn’t have filled it.”
“No; you couldn’t even have filled the lamp,” said Millicent, as she hurried to her uncongenial work.
The breakfast was ideal—beautifully cooked, perfectly served, and appreciatively eaten.
When it was over, Hester sat for a few moments on the vine-clad piazza that ran across the back of the house.
To her came Lady Pendered, stepping softly and looking cautiously about her.
“You’re the cook, Hester, are you not?” she said.
“Yes, your ladyship,” answered Hester, and not over-graciously, for she didn’t like her countrywoman at all.
“Hester, I want you to go back to England and live with me. I’m sure you’d like your own home better than this savage country, and I’ll give you a pound a week and found.”
When Lady Pendered began her speech Hester felt angry; but as she continued, the funny side of it struck the pseudo-cook, and she answered:
“Hi couldn’t do it nohow, your ladyship. Hi ’ave a good ’ome ’ere, and Hi likes my missus, and Hi’d not be by way of livin’ with the haristocracy hanyway—but meanin’ no hoffense to your ladyship.”
After further useless attempts to persuade the superior cook to go home with her, Lady Pendered walked off in high dudgeon, and Hester flew back into the kitchen to tell Marjorie about it, which was not altogether necessary, as that young woman had gleefully viewed the scene through a latticed window.
Meantime Lady Lucy, in her boudoir, was trying to persuade Millicent to enter her service, and that romantic purveyor of fairy-tales was astonishing the English girl, to her own mischievous delight.
“I’d be glad to go with your ladyship,” she was saying. “I’m sure there couldn’t be a lovelier lady to work for in all England or Arabia. Your hair is just beautiful, miss—my lady, I mean. And of course my mistress could easily fill my place here.”
“Then come with me,” said Lady Lucy, eagerly. “I’ll be very good to you; you shall have every other Sunday afternoon out.”
“Oh, my lady, you’re too generous! But it’s no use tempting me thus. I cannot go. I fear to cross the wild and wavy ocean.”
“Nonsense!” cried Lady Lucy. “Is that all? Why, there’s not a bit of danger. We’ll go on the safest ship afloat.”
“It isn’t that, my lady; I fear not shipwrecks, butsharks!”
When Millicent put on her deep tragic tones and gazed intently at her hearer, she was very impressive; and the Lady Lucy began to feel a trifle scared.
“Sharks! What trash!” she said; but she was fascinated by Millicent’s eyes.
“Nay, my lady; ’tis true. A strange fatality follows all my family. My great-uncle fell overboard and was eaten by a shark; my second cousin was caught by a shark while swimming; and my aunt’s grandmother”—here her voice fell to a thrilling whisper—“went out for a walk in her garden, and a shark came right up out of the brook and bit off her left foot. Oh, no, my lady; never would I dare the terrors of the briny deep. ’Tis a curse—a fatal curse!”
By this time Millicent was stalking up and down the room, waving her arms about tragically and groaning deeply.
“Ah, my lady, tempt me not to a dire fate! Urge me not on an errand which would but lead me to my fearful doom! Fain would I serve so fair a mistress; but, alas! it is not mine to choose my lot. I am forever beneath a ban—a ban—a ban!”
At this point Mrs. Lennox entered, and Millicent at once assumed her ordinary manner, though Lady Lucy was quite unstrung.
This could not be explained, as she had no intention of telling her hostess how she had tried to lure away one of her servants, and so Mrs. Lennox came to the conclusion that her old friend’s daughter was a very hysterical, weak-minded young woman.
The morning wore away, and soon after luncheon the visitors prepared to depart.
Pretty Marguerite was a little too much in evidence for a parlor-maid; but she was so anxious to see as much as possible of the interesting English ladies that she couldn’t keep properly in the background. Her reward was a withering glance from Lady Pendered as she drove away, and an overheard remark that “Miranda’s servants were all admirable except that yellow-haired popinjay.”
But when the carriage containing the Ladies Pendered was entirely out of sight Mrs. Lennox’s manner underwent a decided change, and the girls realized for the first time how much she, too, had been masquerading.
“You’re perfect dears!” she cried. “Let me kiss you—the whole lot of you! It was the most wonderful success! And I rather think I impressed Mary Pendered with our American superiority in some ways at least. Girls, I shall never forget your kindness. You were trumps—absolute trumps. Now listen to me, my dearies. I have to go to the city to-morrow to get a new staff of servants, though I can assure you they’ll never give me such fine work as you girls have done. But that was fairyland, and we must now drop back to a prosaic reality in the matter of housekeeping. Now this is what I want you to do. Go back to your cottage for a couple of days, and then shut it up and come to stay with me as my guests for the rest of the time you are at Long Beach.”
“Oh, Mrs. Lennox,” cried Marguerite, “how lovely that would be! The housekeeping at the cottage was fun in some ways; but I’d far rather stay in this lovely home, andnotcook my own meals.”
“Lazy Daisy!” said Marjorie. “But I own up that I, too, am a little tired of the working part of Hilarity Hall.”
“And well you may be,” chimed in Betty, “for you did far more than your share of it.”
“No, I didn’t,” declared Marjorie. “But as president of the Cooking Club I move we accept Mrs. Lennox’s invitation with heartfelt gratitude, and that a copy of these resolutions be engrossed and framed and presented to the lady in question.”
“Aye, aye!” cried seven voices; and Mrs. Lennox beamed with delight at the anticipation of the frolics of these young girls in her somewhat lonely house.
So the good lady went to New York, and the girls trooped back to Hilarity Hall and told Aunt Molly all about it.
“It seems a bit like defeat,” said Hester, who always liked to carry out successfully anything she undertook.
“Oh, no,” said Aunt Molly. “You have no especial reason for staying in the cottage if a pleasanter plan offers itself. Take the goods the gods provide, and be thankful.”
“And I do hate to cook,” confessed Marguerite. “It’s all very well for Hester and Marjorie. They can put a bone in a kettle of water, set it on the fire, and wag a bay-leaf at it, and behold a delicious soup! But I follow carefully that grimy old cookery-book, get out all the utensils in the cupboard, and stew myself into a salamander, and then I’ve only an uneatable mess as the result.”
“Never mind, my pretty parlor-maid,” said Marjorie; “some are born cooks—that’s me; some achieve cooks—that’s Mrs. Lennox; and some have cooking thrust upon them—and that’s what we’ll do after to-morrow. Now let’s write up the annals.”
“Who’ll write up the annals of our sojourn at Mrs. Lennox’s?” said Betty.
“Past or future?” queried Nan.
“Oh, past! We’ll all do the future ones when we get there.”
“Let’s leave the annals of the Pendered party to do after we get there, too,” proposed Millicent; “we’ll have more time and can do them better.”
All agreed to this; so Hester took the “Whitecap” and said she’d wind up the cottage annals in short order; which she did, with this result: